


Side By Side

by RobinTrigue



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, Soulmate AU, Soulmate marks, crying noise, soulmates - final words, time lapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8542000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinTrigue/pseuds/RobinTrigue
Summary: Cass is one of the uncommon people who knows the final words he'll ever hear his soulmate say, but when your soulmate is Enzo Amore, you don't have time to be bogged down in morbidity because there's so much life to live and so many days to seize.





	

Soulmate marks aren’t common, but they’re not uncommon either; it’s a lot like being double jointed, or being able to curl your tongue, a quirk of birth that some people've got and some people don’t. Plus, it’s not like they’re exactly relevant to one’s life. It’s all anecdata, the business of a soulmate mark being the last words you’ll hear your soulmate say. That’s where the term comes from, that’s why it’s a soulmate mark instead of a regular birthmark, but Cass figures he’s still gonna fall in love in the same sort of manner as every other person on the planet, so who cares? It’s a far less interesting quirk than any of the others he happened to be born with. _Definitely_ far less interesting than being able to kick most people’s asses at basketball.

 

Cass is sweating in the heat of New York summer in June of ’95, jersey sticking to his back as some asshole crushes his face into the side of the Cage. He swears, feeling the basketball rolling away from him; he tries to throw the jerk off, but there’s no point since he’s already gone after the ball he’d made Cass lose.

“I don’t fuckin’ think so!” shouts some kid, some New Jerseyite who pretty much runs between the dude’s legs to steal the ball from him. Cass would laugh if he wasn’t still catching his breath. The little guy makes it halfway down the court, really freaking good at dodging defence, and Cass is back to bouncing on the balls of his feet.

The guy’s head whips around, sweaty strands of his long brown hair sticking to him just like Cass’s was. He sees Cass and shouts, “Hey big guy! Throw me!”

It feels like it only takes a second to cross the court, shoving everyone out of the way to catch up. The guy’s waist fits easy in Cass’s hands, and being that small means he gets _ridiculous_ air as Cass lifts him, it’s like he’s flying. He shoots, and it’s a goddamn three point shot made by both of them, against some of the best amateur players in the city.

“Yeah! How you doin’!” The guy yells like every word is profanity.

Cass whoops, slapping him on the back as they both run to chase the ball. “How you doin’!” he mimics, blood pumping as their team goes from losing to a landslide win.

They both stick around for three more games after that, until it’s dark and Cass has to catch a train if he’s going to get any coursework done at all this weekend. He shakes his hair out of its ponytail, and the guy swaggers up to him, grinning with exhaustion.

“Enzo Amore,” he announces, holding out a hand to shake. “You play here often?”

 

Cass is sitting around before class in 2012, grateful to be indoors with air conditioning because even in November it’s so goddamn humid in Florida that it makes you sweaty before you even get a chance to wrestle.

He looks at the other wrestlers as they drift into the building; they’re getting a couple of new signs today, and since he’s early he has a chance to size them up.

Size. Hmm. Sometimes Cass wonders if he should have listened to his mother and gone to med school. Even for a wrestler, he’s pretty gangly, and working in an industry that’s all about your highly-visible body sometimes makes him feel – _holy shit, is that Enzo Amore?_

Enzo, now tattooed and in tight leopard-print pants, does a double-take that makes him stagger back a few feet into the glass doors.

“Well fuck me in a goddamn church! Big Cass?” He hasn’t grown an inch taller.

Cass grins, standing and throwing his arms wide for a hug. “Zo? How in the hell did you wind up here, bro?” he asks.

Enzo takes the flying leap into him.

 

They’re about to have their first match together, their first _victory_ together in July 2013, but Cass’s head is spinning. For some dumbass reason, he’d got a whole ‘now or never’ deal into his head, had decided he needed to tell Enzo _right then_ that he loved him and always would, and a million other confessions about ‘soulmates’ and ‘forever.’

Cass doesn’t think there’s going to be a day in his life he isn’t grateful that Enzo grabbed him by the neck and smashed their faces together in a kiss, and there’s definitely not going to be a day in his life that he isn’t grateful Enzo feels the same way.

Enzo had replied to every one of Cass’s awkward, stilted words with fierce, emotional ones, promising everything from vintage sneaks to the moon and stars to a goddamn main event at Wrestlemania. So it’s no wonder that Cass’s head is spinning, spinning from plans and promises and kisses that Enzo is spurting out at top speed and top volume into Cass’s neck, his hair, his mouth. The crowd is hot for them and their music hits.

“Wait – you’re sure you wanna do this?” he asks. “It’s not too – you’re sure?”

Enzo tugs on Cass’s necklace chain for one more kiss before they leave Gorilla, hot and energised. “Never been more sure of anything in my life,” he says. “I’m a G, you know that.”

Cass nods, unable to believe his life, heart racing. “Yeah,” he says. “Alright, yeah.”

They make their entrance and Enzo lifts the mic to his lips. The lights are blinding and the crowd is deafening.

“My name is Enzo Amore, and I am a certified G and a bonafide stud, and ya can’t teach that!”  He spits every word at the audience, like a cat that’s been pet the wrong way, like the world owes him personally anything and everything and he’ll fight his scrappy little heart out to get it. Cass’s chest throbs. “And this right here? This is Big Cass, and he’s seven foot tall and ya can’t teach that!”

Cass emphasises those final words, waving his arms with a vehemence to match Enzo’s. _Ya can’t teach that._ How you doin’.

 

It’s Payback 2016, and Cass is there before the ref is. Enzo’s neck had bent wrong when he hit the ropes, and Cass’s heart is a mile a minute because he’s fucking terrified. They have to call an ambulance, won’t let him into the room until tests have been done even though Enzo _needs_ him, even though he _needs_ to be there for Enzo.

After way, way too long, a doctor finally waves to Cass, and Cass has bolted to the door before the doc’s even finished his sentence.

“Zo? Zo, are you okay? It looked real bad, Zo, it looked real bad and-”

Enzo must be in pain otherwise Cass knows he’d have laughed at his anxiety. “I’m okay, pal,” he says. “Lil' bump like this ain’t gonna a stud like me down. I’m invincible, ya know. Can’t teach that.”

Cass cries and kisses him, doesn’t leave his side until the doctors give him the all clear and they wander outside into the night with Enzo still in his hospital gown.

 

Cass can’t understand how Enzo isn’t freaked out by his soulmate mark. It freaks Cass out sometimes, just... knowing. But Enzo only traces it with a finger from time to time late at night as they lie in bed together.

“Zo? How you doin’?”

And Enzo laughs and kisses him each time. “M’ fine, ya big lug,” he says, usually before smacking Cass on the ass and asking him if he’s ready for a round two. They've only had the one, first conversation about it, all those years ago, but for Enzo that must be enough.

 

Cass felt like it could never happen, but also felt like it was inevitable when Foley told them they’d get a title shot at Wrestlemania XXXIX. And now they’re here, even Enzo pacing nervously in Gorilla. Breezango are there with them, entering second, and despite the animosity the two teams have built up they’re uncharacteristically quiet backstage, both awed by how big a stage they’re about to be on. Cass shakes both of their hands before the music hits, is surprised when Enzo does the same.

“What?” Enzo says when Cass quirks a quiet eyebrow. “Gotta be polite to people whose asses you’re about to kick, Cass, otherwise it ain’t sportsmanlike.”

Cass laughs and kisses him, lifting him into the air for the first of many times that night. He’s so excited he feels like he might have a heart attack, but he knows he won’t.

He and Enzo stalk out into the biggest fucking arena in the world, and Enzo shouts, “ _My name is Enzo Amore, and-_ ”

 

They’re enjoying the calm of 2035 when Cass gets a call from Hunter. He puts it on speakerphone; the call’s gonna include Enzo too, by definition, since Cass does nothing without Enzo.

“Hey Colin,” Hunter says. “I know it’s only February, but I wanted to talk to you and Enzo about this summer?”

“It’s nice to hear from ya, boss, what’s up?” he says. Enzo puts down his DS to listen, leaning his head against Cass’s shoulder as they recline on the sofa. Cass pats his stiff, bleached hair affectionately.

“I was wondering how you two would feel about coming back down to Florida this August? I know you’ve retired from _active_ wrestling, but there are teaching positions at Full Sail with your names on them. Just say the word.”

Cass and Enzo look at each other for a moment.

“August’s no good, Carmie’s getting married ‘round then and we gotta be there to help out,” Enzo says.

“Congratulations!” Hunter says. “Of course your daughter comes first. You don’t have to decide right now, I only wanted to let you know that the offer was open.”

Enzo cuddles back into Cass when the call’s hung up. “August’s no good,” he repeats quietly as he unpauses his game. “We’ll decide about the rest of Full Sail and all that later.”

Cass nods. “Sure thing, Zo. It's up to you.”

 

December, 2074. The snow is falling thick and fast outside, and Cass is by Enzo’s side again at the hospital. He’s crying, he’s trying not to but he is. He’s not sure whether Enzo can see it, but knows Enzo can tell anyway.

“Come on big guy, it’s not so bad,” he says.

“’Course it ain’t,” agrees Cass. “I’m just being overdramatic, you know how I get. Not a G like you.”

“’Course not, ya can’t teach that shit,” says Enzo. Cass grabs Enzo’s hand as the monitor jumps.

“Ya doin’ good? Can I get you anything?”

Enzo waves his other hand dismissively. “M’ fine, Cass, calm your socks.” He sighs, staring blindly up at the ceiling. “S’been a good life, ya know? Did Wrestlemania, raised a great kid, married a guy I love-”

“Who the hell is he, I’m gonna tear him apart,” Cass sniffles. It’s one of the oldest jokes they have, and it still makes Enzo laugh.

“I dunno, Cass, he’s pretty tall, you think an old fart like you can handle that fight?”

“Carmie’s flying in, she and the kids should be here tomorrow if the runways are clear,” Cass says, switching back to seriousness as he rubs his eyes on his sleeve.

“It’ll be nice to see everyone again,” Enzo says. His voice is pretty quiet, and Cass has to strain to hear it. He runs his thumb over the microphone tattoo as he listens. “Y’know, Cass, even when I first saw you playin’ b-ball, I thought ‘what a great guy.’ Even before ya said anything, I knew you was the best guy I’d ever-”

He coughs, can’t continue. Cass’s memories of pre-med have been mostly overwritten by the subsequent decades of shitty medical dramas, but even those are enough that he can see what’s happening on the instruments over Enzo’s shoulder.

“Ya gonna show me around when you get up there, Zo?” he asks. He’s almost whispering, as though he doesn’t want Enzo to hear.

Enzo’s eyes are wet too now, and he presses a last kiss to Cass’s lips before answering. “Yeah,” he says. His hands are cool in Cass’s large ones, but they squeeze him gently. “Yeah Cass, I can teach that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. This is the last fic I'm gonna do for this extremely sad subspecies of Soulmate AU, I promise.


End file.
